


held himself upright

by marginaliana



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 22:52:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19119322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana
Summary: The trouble was that – as they were at opposite ends of the sofa – Aziraphale couldn't help looking over at Crowley and thinking about the fact that… they were at opposite ends of the sofa.





	held himself upright

Crowley's tale of what he'd witnessed that afternoon was the sort of story that Aziraphale would normally have loved: a bit whimsical, a cavalcade of improbabilities that could only have happened with the aid of a demonic hand, however Crowley might disavow any intervention. The sort of story that began in a coffee shop and proceeded down the street, into and out of a martial arts studio, through a pavement path lined by plants, over a collection of discarded and sticky push chairs, making a narrow escape from an orange feather boa hanging at just the wrong height from a statue of an astronaut in front of a secondhand clothing shop, all before ending up, as Crowley had just revealed, on the top tier of a working fountain, one of the pair astride Poseidon and the other with a foot balanced on a spouting dolphin. 

The trouble was that while he told it – and as they were at opposite ends of the sofa – Aziraphale couldn't help looking over at Crowley and thinking about the fact that… they were at opposite ends of the sofa. 

Had it always been like this? He supposed it had. Six thousand years and it had been two sides of the tables in restaurants, two ends of the benches in parks. How odd that seemed now, after— Well. After. Crowley was leaning sideways, a bit inward, one arm stretched lazily across the sofa back, his head tilted. It was Aziraphale who held himself upright.

"And oh, Angel," Crowley continued, "you would not believe—"

"Why do you always call me that?" Aziraphale blurted. It wasn't the first time the question had occurred to him, but it was the first time he hadn't been able to hold it back. Because this was part of it, too. Crowley calling him 'Angel' and Aziraphale only ever calling him 'Crowley' in return.

"Shorter to say than that ridiculous name you were saddled with," Crowley drawled. His eyes flicked away and then back again. "I can hardly go around calling you 'Holy Principality Aziraphale of the Third Choir,' can I? We'd never get through a conversation without having to stop for tea in the middle."

"Really, Crowley," Aziraphale said, pursing his lips to hide a smile.

"I could call you 'Azzy,' I suppose."

"No." 

Crowley grinned. "Ralph?" he suggested. "Princey?"

"Certainly not." Aziraphale could recognize deflecting as well as anyone. "Crowley. _Do_ be serious."

The smile slipped off Crowley's face. He looked shifty – or shifti _er_ , anyway. He hesitated. "I should think a bright-winged celestial being like you could figure it out," he said at last. 

Aziraphale swallowed. He was _beginning_ to figure it out. He rather thought he'd been beginning to figure it out for quite a long time. It was something different to hear it in words, though.

He turned the information over in his head, only realizing that the silence between them had dragged out when Crowley's fingers began to tap against the back of the sofa. Aziraphale reached up and placed his palm over them. Crowley stilled.

"You may call me whatever you like, my dear," said Aziraphale.

"I'll take advantage of that," Crowley warned.

Aziraphale rubbed his thumb along the side of Crowley's hand. "I'm willing to risk it."

Crowley said nothing, but he didn't need to – the soft silence was enough to make Aziraphale risk a little more. He shuffled carefully half an inch closer. Then another half an inch. Then another and another, until he was close enough to feel Crowley's ever-present warmth.

Crowley's arm slowly moved down to curl around him. Aziraphale rested his head against Crowley's shoulder. Like this he couldn't see Crowley's face, but that was all right.

"Apologies for interrupting, my dear," Aziraphale said. "Do carry on."

The pause was just barely noticeable, and then Crowley leapt in again. "So _she_ said, 'Did I tell you that I've always wondered what it would be like to get forked by Poseidon?'" His breath ruffled Aziraphale's hair. "And _he_ said, 'If you don't know that's actually a trident, I'm not sure I want a second date.'"

Aziraphale laughed, as much from relief as from amusement. He was sure Crowley knew it. But Crowley's arm was gentle about his shoulders, so that was all right.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [held himself upright [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155232) by [aethel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aethel/pseuds/aethel)




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